Crossing Lines For You
by Busman's Holiday
Summary: Brendan's POV. How he might feel and how his feelings/relationship might change towards Ste if he and Warren killed Danny to protect Ste.


**Inspired by what could happen to Brendan's state of mind if he (and Warren) killed Danny to protect Ste.**

**Crossing Lines For You**

I was reaching for the whiskey bottle again when I caught his eye.

"What?" I asked, all aggression removed from my tone. I think it had been the solitarily kick into Danny Houston's lifeless body that had taken it from me.

He backed away, cautious. "Nothing."

He was still tiptoeing around me, giving me the odd glance when he thought I wasn't looking. I was always looking. I found it impossible to be in the same room and not look now. Except in those moments where I steeled myself and heard the tirade of reasons why I shouldn't be looking loud and clear in my head.

Every time he opened his mouth tonight I expected it to be his way of broaching the subject of last week. That _date_ or whatever it was we were doing. If only he had a fraction of an idea of what I'd done for him, he wouldn't need to mention that trivial matter again. But I wasn't going to be the one to tell him that I'd crossed the ultimate line for him. To be truthful, I'd crossed a line for him that I didn't even know I could, long before Danny ended up face down in the river. A line I thought was impossible to cross, one man to another.

Wordlessly Stephen moved to the stockroom and flicked off the final light switches of the bar. We'd both been there longer than twenty minutes of the bar being closed, neither saying very much, both reluctant to leave. Although I expect he was just waiting on my say so. I couldn't ask him to stay; I didn't want him to go.

"That's me then," he said. His eyes were sad.

I stood straighter, nodding once and trying to catch his jittery gaze. "Right. Yeah."

In a last ditch attempt at breaking the space between us, my hand reached out, fingertips brushing the back of his hand. Until, blocking out those thoughts, I held his hand, leaving his mouth in a little circle of surprise. Up my other hand went, flat against the warm, beating centre of his chest. I just needed to know, needed to feel.

He was quiet: expectant, confused. He couldn't possibly know why I had to hold him like this, why it now seemed so important to do so. Staying still, he gave me a small smile when I held his face, combing his hair back from his forehead and tracing his lips with my thumb.

It was becoming more and more difficult to deny myself being with him.

It was soft and gentle on the lips. It wasn't the usual scramble of clothes and mouths and hands in hair, it was warm and the kind of tender that terrified me. He could feel it was different, I knew from when I pulled away and looked at him. His eyes were dark and flirtatious, but he must have seen a look of fear in mine, because he hesitated and blinked away his lust.

I pulled him forward until his forehead touched mine and his fingers played loosely in my hair.

"Sommit wrong?" he asked me, but I could tell that he wasn't sure if he should.

I sighed, a low sort of hum came from the back of my throat. "Nothing. I'm fine Stephen." I took his bottom lip into my mouth and kissed it. "What's going on in here Stephen?" I parted from him, tapping two fingers to his temple.

"Just…well nothing really. You just seem…different,"

I swallowed, breaking eye contact and the word played around in my mind as I repeated it back to him.

"Not bad different," he quickly added.

I smirked, stroking the smooth skin of his face and he returned the smile. I could have stayed like that with him for a long while, but something returned inside me, dark and cold. I patted him and much cooler, I stepped apart from him, from us.

"Stephen it's late and I should get going and you've got…well, your home to be going to."

They weren't the words I'd wanted and not the ones he'd hoped for. But so obediently he knew not to push it and he took the scraps that I gave him, buried them inside with some sort of hope that I didn't know where to find within me, but he'd found his own. He picked up his coat, looked at my lips and then with a sheepish goodbye he left, with my eyes following him close behind.

/

I rubbed at my eyes, wondering if it was worth lying there any longer with my eyes shut in the hopes I would sleep. I checked my phone – I'd been lying there sleepless for an hour, not long enough to give up all hope – but I found myself in Messages, finding his name.

_Can't sleep. Want you here. Come over._

Stretching out across the bed, I stroked over the empty side of the mattress. I don't know if I would ever stop thinking about what could have happened to him. It was unbearable. At least having him curled up beside me, his skinny legs kicking out in his dreams, would stop me from jolting in a cold sweat from nightmares.

My mood started to darken with the prospect of him not coming and I started to think of ways I could destroy his self-restraint in the morning but then my phone buzzed on the bedside drawers.

_I'm outside._

With the house empty, I padded through in just my underwear and opened the door to him. He was as bed-bedraggled as me, his Chez-Chez uniform as thrown on clumsily as it had been torn off. I didn't need to ask whether Rae knew he'd gone – he'd told me she was with her nan for Christmas – our conversations all day at work had skirted around the fact we both had houses empty enough to fuck each other's brains out in every room. But he hadn't been brave enough to ask and I couldn't admit to just wanting to hold him.

"You can't just expect me to coming running all the time Brendan," Ste said. His voice was quiet but his fists were clenched in his frustration.

I screwed up my face sleepily and shut the door behind him. I couldn't tell him I felt _lonely_.

"And still, you're here," I said thoroughly aware that I was being a prick. I watched him frown and more honesty seeped through. I hesitated. "I wanted you here."

I stroked my fingers through his hair, watching him soften.

"Will you spend the night?" I asked, keeping a hold of him.

He reached out, shyly touching my bare chest. "If you want me to,"

"You know I do."

In bed, he pressed his skinny frame against me and I wrapped myself around him like a shield, arms locking around him. I knew he was about to tell me how much he loved lying like this with me, but I hushed him before he had a chance to say what I was thinking too. I kissed his hair and slept, knowing he was protected as long as I had a say.


End file.
